Bedroom Farce
by Baron Munchausen
Summary: AU bit of fluff with no spoilers. Sir Anthony and Lady Strallan are on honeymoon. They are staying in a hotel in Paris, and Edith plays a little joke on her English Milord, but gets more than she expected. One-shot with adult themes merely hinted at.


_**A/N: As relief from all the high drama of Overs and Innings, and to thank everyone for all the lovely reviews, here is some Complete and Utter Fluff. A one-shot, set on Anthony and Edith's honeymoon. They are staying in a hotel in Paris. One morning, Edith has gone down to breakfast while Anthony is finishing his bath…**_

He heard a soft knock, and the bedroom door opened and closed. _Housekeeping_, he thought. In England they wouldn't be allowed into a guest's room with the said guest still in it, but things were different in France, more lax, more relaxed. He called out "Bonjour, mademoiselle".

A silky voice replied "Monsieur, pardonez-moi". She went about her business and Anthony relaxed a little, drying himself off after the bath, but he realised he only had his nightshirt in the bathroom with him – all his clothes were in the bedroom. He called out in French "Excuse me, mademoiselle, but are you going soon?"

"I am 'ere and ready for you, milord" she replied, he realised with rising unease, from the direction of the bed, and in the sort of voice that meant only one thing: that by 'room service' she intended something totally different to his usual expectations.

He registered her intentions with shock. What if Edith came back now? How would he explain the situation? Was this maid still clothed, or, God forbid, naked on the bed waiting for him?

He began to bluster in French "Mademoiselle, I'm afraid you do not understand…"

_._

Edith was quite pleased with the results of her little joke so far. This was developing rather nicely. Adopting her seductive French maid voice again, she said "I 'ave admired you so, these last few days. You are _so 'andsome_, my English milord, and I cannot resist you. I _must _'ave you."

Despite everything, and rather guiltily, Anthony felt flattered, but she must be made to understand.

"But my wife…"

Edith came over to the bathroom door and dropping her voice to a honeyed darkness played her best card.

"Oh, the English wives, they are…'ow you say?…chilly, cold. _I_ can do things for you that the English milady will never 'ave dreamt of!"

For a split second, Anthony remembered his youth. Like many men of his generation, he'd been taken to Le Chabanais, one of the best brothels in Paris (it was patronised even by the Prince of Wales), by an uncle to…er, learn the facts of life.* His experience that night, as a callow twenty-one-year-old was something he would never forget, and tried very hard not to remember. Those things weren't something a gentleman should wish for, or a lady offer. But it had been bloody marvellous nevertheless. How much better would it be with someone he loved? He quickly stopped that train of thought right there. He just had to get this blasted maid out of his room.

Sternly he said "If you do not leave this room immediately, I will speak to the Manager about you." He hated saying things like that, but she'd left him no choice. In a voice that was kinder, but no less firm, he said "I am flattered, mademoiselle, but I regret it is impossible. I am very much in love with my wife. Please leave."

In her own, normal voice, Edith replied "I am very glad to hear that you love your wife, Sir Anthony, but I am still not leaving."

"Edith!" He came out of the bathroom with his nightshirt tied around his waist looking very relieved and faintly ridiculous. He hugged her.

"Oh, Edith!"

"Were you not even a little tempted, milord?" she teases in French, the maid returning briefly.

"No, not at all" he replied honestly. "That maid scared me silly! I was so worried what you would think if you found her here."

"I'm sorry if I worried you."

"But I am very tempted now" he said recovering his composure. "And I think we need to talk about how you know what services French maids, and others like them, offer that English miladies do not."

"Only if you tell me how you know."

"Her name was Fleur – at least that's what she told me."

"Anthony!"

"I'm not particularly proud of it, but when I was young it was the done thing for a young gentleman to be taken to Paris by an uncle or someone to learn about Life from…well, from a professional.* It was only that once, I promise. Are you disgusted?"

"No, no, I'm not disgusted. Intrigued, but not disgusted. What were you like then I wonder?"

"Scared to death! Now, tell me how you know!"

"Oh, a number of gentlemen have instructed me…" Anthony's heart almost stopped. "…some French: Alfred de Musset, Pierre Louÿs; some English: John Cleland, J. P. Kirkwood; some of them on your own bookshelves, Anthony. All theory, no practical. Although I'd very much like to try..."

"Oh, Edith! That's the second time in as many minutes that you've almost scared me to death. If you don't start behaving yourself soon, I am going to be very displeased, and I may have to punish you." He looked at her with an expression on his face that was amused, severe, dangerous, and exciting.

Edith felt it was now her turn to be, if not scared, then decidedly nervous. It occurred to her that actually she was rather thrilled and excited by a dominant and dominating Anthony. It was so unlike him, but it made her breathless.

"How will you punish me?" she whispered huskily, exciting him beyond measure.

"I will kiss you, and tease you, and toy with you, and make you desire me, and make you beg me to satisfy you, and then, and only then, will I make love to you until the angels weep."

She was panting at him then, totally aroused.

"Playing the French maid was a whim, it was spontaneous. I thought I was teasing a kitten. Little did I know I was arousing a lion." She placed her hands on him, stroking his bare shoulders and chest, and reaching up for him with desire.

"You are in mortal danger, my Lady, and you have only yourself to blame". And with that he picked her up bodily with his good arm and half threw, half dropped, her onto the bed and made good his previous threats.

* * *

_._

* Even though it is hinted at in Dorothy L. Sayers' work, I don't really know if this sort of thing actually happened (!).

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